At twelve shillings sixpence a day, it ought to, Lewrie carped to himself; that's more'n twice my active-commission lieutenant's pay!
They.
Caroline never failed to amaze him. Where he had expected the tears and recriminations of an abandoned wife, accusations of running away from familial responsibilities…
Damme, she was packed herself and ready to travel near as fast as I was, he thought admiringly. Babes bustled off to Granny Charlotte and off we jounced! Himself, Cony, Bodkins as coachee, Caroline and her maidservant, all jumbling together as the closed coach clattered over winter-hard roads so crossrutted they were fortunate to still have a collective tooth in their heads!
Once settled, Lewrie wrote a letter to his solicitor, Matthew Mountjoy, to make arrangements for Caroline's, and the farm's, allowance whilst he was at sea. He also penned a note on his account with Coutts Co., bankers, for ready funds, and future drafts to be sent overseas; all of which Cony would deliver on the morrow.
Then a quick, quiet supper and up to bed, so he would be well rested for his appearance at the Admiralty. He donned his nightshirt and slipped into a warm bedstead, wondering how often in future he'd have the luxury of retiring completely undressed, of enjoying a full night's sleep, instead of two- and three-hour snatches between crises. Wondering what sort of ship he'd be assigned to… a frigate was his dearest wish. How slow and cumbersome a 3rd Rate ship of the line is by comparison, how plodding and dull, and… hello?
Caroline snuffed the candles (beeswax, a round half-dozen to the room, and each charged for what three would cost in the country!) and slid in beside him. Her head found its usual resting place upon his shoulder, her arms encircled him as he extended his right arm to nestle her warmly close. The light, citrony aroma of freshly dabbed Hungary Water enveloped him. Caroline slid one hand up his chest to his neck, to the back of his head. With sinewy strength, she turned his face to hers and their lips met in the dark as she grappled him nearer, as she slid upward, as she cast a slim thigh across his lap. Seductively, yet fiercely, her kisses searing and intense as sobs.
"I could not let you go away," she whispered in a raspy breathlessness, "with last night your remembrance of me. God knows how long you'll be gone, or how soon… how little time we…!"
All said between long, searching, open-mouthed kisses, breath hot and cow-clover musky, her soft, smooth flesh flushed and warming as Alan slid her silk nightgown to her waist to fondle, to possess that peach-like bottom, that butterfly softness of her inner thighs, that fount of all pleasures…
With almost frantic impatience, Caroline sat up on her knees and one arm and shucked her nightgown, tossing it to the four winds. Reached down as though to rip his bedclothes high enough away, to lean down over him, take his hands and guide them to her breasts as she pressed her mouth to his once more, her tongue almost scalding.
"All night, I swear it!" She almost wept. "All the time they give us!"
"God, I love you, Caroline!" he muttered as he took hold of the up-swelling of her hips to guide her down to meet him. "I love you!"
"Oh, Alan, dearest… I love you!" she vowed. "Love me now, I beg you! My remembrance! Ahhh, yess!"
S'pose they'll not see me that early, he most happily thought; God, I can get a whole day's sleep in the Waiting Room, more'n like!
Even at half past six of the morning, London 's streets were thronged with mongers and their wares fresh from the market, waggons and drays, livestock, weary prostitutes and pickpockets, revellers on their way home to bed, shopkeepers and clerks on their way to work. The bulkhead shops were already open, as were the greengrocers and butchers. Coal-heavers were out, houseservants or valets to fetch their masters' or mistresses' breakfasts from ordinaries or taverns. It was quicker for Lieutenant Lewrie to saunter down Catherine Street, cross the busy Strand, with a trained ear attuned to the rude cries of "Have care!" or "By y'r leave, sir!" of coachees, careening waggoners, or sedan-chair bully bucks. To stand still, dumb as a fart in a trance, even on the footpaths, was an invitation to getting trampled. And take a boat to the Admiralty.
At the foot of the bank where Charing Cross ended there were stairs to the riverside-slimy, mucked and erose, and worn down by long usage. As soon as he was spotted, the cacophonous din set in, reminding Lewrie of a hunting pack who'd cornered the fox.
"Oars, oars!" cried the boatmen. "Scullers, scullers, sir! Tuppence!" countered those with smaller dinghys featuring a stern-sweep as propulsion.
"Oars," he answered back, scanning the flotilla and selecting a bullock of a fellow, who sported the crossbelt, brassard and coat-of-arms of the Lord Mayor.
" Whitehall Steps… sixpence, sir," the fellow nodded as he boarded the small craft. "Tide'n wind be fair 'is mornin', sir."
"Hard not to tell," Lewrie commented as he settled himself on a forward thwart, his coin out and ready.
"Aye, aye, sir," the man crinkled a sun-wrinkled smile as he shoved off and shipped his oars in the tholepins. "Young man wearin' King's Coat… canvas packet unner 'is arm… well, sir!"
"You were in the Navy?" Lewrie asked.
"Both th' las' wars, sir. Landsman… ord'nary'n able seaman… 'en gun cap'um…" he related between powerful strokes, seated to his front, knee to knee with Alan. "Quarter-gunner… Yeoman o' th' Powder 'fore 'twas done. Now 'ere come another war. Y'r welcome to it this time, sir. You an' all t'other young'uns. War 'fore th' week's out's my thinkin'. Can't 'llow th' Frogs t'spread 'eir pizen f r long. Folks is stirred up enough a'ready, sir."
"By levelling talk?" Lewrie inquired. His stretch of Surrey might as well have been in China, for all the rumours that missed him.
"Thorn Paine, sir." The old gunner beamed, tipping him a wink. "Rights o' Man. Correspondin' societies. That Thom Hardy feller an' all? Price… Priestley… dissentin' an' such. Learned t'read in th' Navy, I did, sir. Time on our hands so heavy an' all? 'Nough t'know all them Friends o' the People societies' penny tracts is trouble. Wrote in th' same words'z anythin' wrote in France. 'At spells rebels an' combinations, sir. With so many folk outa work, an' wages so low when ya do get work, well… 'ear tell they've plotted secret committees, gone right over t'Paris itself!"
"Widespread, d'ye think?" Lewrie asked, morbidly intrigued.
"Not so much yet, sir. N'r by hard-handed men, d'ye see? Give 'em time, though… never thought I'd see 'at 'Yankee-Doodle' madness took up in a real country!"
"But it doesn't upset you enough to… volunteer, I take it," Lewrie said with a knowing smirk.
The waterman tapped the brassard on his chest which protected him from the Impress Service, and tipped Lewrie another and equally knowing wink. "I ain't thet stupid in me old age, sir!"
He paid off the waterman at the foot of Whitehall Steps, amid a swarm of other boats, of other officers reporting for duty. A walk up Richmond Terrace to thronging Whitehall, a stroll of about one hundred or more yards north up Whitehall, and he was there, before the curtain wall with its columns and blank stone facade between; before the deep central portal which led to the inner courtyard, beneath the pair of winged sea horses which topped the portal.
Admiralty! What a leviathan one single word implied. Ordnance Board, Victualling Board, Sick and Hurt Board, boards for control of ship's masters, of petty officers with warrants, of officers from lowly midshipmen to fighting admirals, port admirals, the Impress Service, HM Dockyards… cannon foundries, clothing manufacturies, pickling works for salt beef and pork, huge bakeries for untold tons of hard biscuit. And rope, tar, seasoned timber, paint, pewter messware, iron and bronze nails, pins and bolts, the copper industry for clean bottoms and defence against teredo worms. Sailcloth, slop-clothing, leather works, sheath knives and marlinspikes, forks to cutlasses and boarding pikes… taken altogether, the needs of the Fleet, and the myriad of suppliers, contractors, jobbers- and thieves-who filled those needs, the Royal Navy was the single largest commercial enterprise in the British Empire. Which meant, of course, the civilized world. And one single word-Admiralty-spanned it all. Just as the Royal Navy would soon span the globe, the most efficiently armed, supplied and equipped military organization known to man. The enormity of the endeavour made even a cynic such as Lewrie take pause.